"Yes, she will." Terry was confident. "It will be for only one year, and then—"
"And then what?" the Major demanded after a while.
"Then—back home, among my own people. I left home foolishly, Major. I was restless—looking for a dragon to slay. But I have had a year in which to think—and I see things differently. During the time I was sick up here I—I ... well, I know now that a man need not cross the world to find service: he can be just as useful in preventing bunions as in—as in such lucky ventures as this."
"Preventing bunions?" The Major was puzzled.
But Terry did not answer. He had risen to finish his preparations for the journey down.
"Just one more thing, Terry. You promised to tell me how you started that little avalanche—the 'sign.'"
Something of the serenity faded from Terry's face as he turned to explain: "I had been up there several times, and had noticed a deep crevice that split the platform from the parent rock. It would have fallen within a few months. I carried up some softwood wedges, drove them into the fault, poured in a lot of water and expansion did the rest."
The Major visualized the toil and peril of lugging heavy logs up the spiral trail at night. "Why didn't you let me help?" he demanded.
"Well, Ahma kept guard for me, and that was enough. If I had been caught I could probably have talked myself out of the scrape, but it might have gone harder with you. Luckily the timbers I used for wedges were buried in the slide."
The Major's face clouded swiftly: "Say, Terry! That scoundrel Pud-Pud said that he saw you that night—he can ruin the thing yet if he talks!"